My Dark Duke (10 page)

Alethea looked up at him, wondering if she had misheard. However, the banked heat in his dark eyes made it obvious that he had indeed uttered those very words. She swallowed, feeling a strange sensation coil low in her abdomen. ‘Your Grace . . .' She stopped, unsure of what she should say. What could she say? This was completely beyond the realm of her experience.

Trent glanced around. They were standing towards the end of the line, and all around them a large press of people milled about, waiting their turn. He took her elbow. ‘Come with me.' Without giving her a chance to protest, he guided her back through the door of the dining room to the ballroom and out the glass doors to the garden outside. Walking swiftly, he led her down the pebbled path and took a sharp right. At the end of that path was a conservatory.

The conservatory was beautiful, filled with plants of all descriptions. Even in the dim light Alethea could tell that it was lovingly tended, no doubt a showcase of unusual and exotic plants. He led her towards a seat which was almost completely hidden by two large potted ferns. Heart racing in her chest, she sat down, not daring to look up at the man by her side.

‘Are you afraid to look at me? I did not think you to be shy.'

She kept her eyes downcast, and then she felt him touch a finger to her chin and gently turn her face up to his. Her lips parted in wonder at the sight of him in the pale light of the moon. The shadows softened his hard features, making him appear like a fallen angel, stern and forbidding, yet so achingly beautiful. She wondered what he would look like with his hair lying dark upon his shoulders. Would she ever see him in such an intimate aspect, she wondered.

‘You are exquisite,' he said softly, so close that his breath fanned her lips.

Dear Lord, was he about to kiss her?

He stroked his fingers along the line of her jaw and she quivered at his touch. ‘You told me that you would have asked for a kiss if you had won our bout. Shall I indulge you, Lady Alethea?'

‘I . . .' She watched helplessly, speechlessly, as he lowered his head until their mouths were a mere breath apart. Now that the moment was near, she was terrified. She had never wanted anything more, and yet she feared her own reaction to him. What if they were discovered? Worse, what if his kiss was the catalyst which made her fall completely and utterly in love with him? Frantically trying to pull her tattered wits together, she leaned back and uttered the first thing that popped into her head. ‘I . . . was wondering if you could tell me more about the Bill of Rights you mentioned earlier, Your Grace.' Her voice sounded breathless, and she knew that he could hear how rapidly she was breathing.

The duke smiled knowingly, putting some space between them, although he didn't move away completely. He took her left hand and placed it on his thigh, palm upturned. Alethea swallowed hard, staring with rapt attention as he put his fingers on the top button of her glove above the elbow. His knuckles grazed the bare skin of her arm and she drew in a sharp breath at the tingle of warmth that the contact caused.

‘You wish to know about the Bill of Rights. Shall I recite it for you?' The rich, deep timbre of his voice in the hushed setting sent a shiver through her and her arm trembled. Even through the glove she felt the muscles in his thigh tense. Never had she been this close to a man. Never had she touched one so intimately.

Trent began his recital. ‘Whereas the late King James the Second, by the Assistance of divers evil Counsellors, Judges, and Ministers employed by him, did endeavour to subvert and extirpate the Protestant Religion, and the Laws and Liberties of this Kingdom.'

The first button came undone.

‘By assuming and exercising a Power of dispensing with and suspending of Laws, and the Execution of Laws, without Consent of Parliament.'

The second button parted from its hole.

‘By committing and prosecuting divers worthy Prelates, for humbly petitioning to be excused from concurring to the said assumed Power.'

The third button. Alethea felt her heartbeat quicken.

‘By issuing and causing to be executed a Commission under the Great Seal for erecting a Court called, The Court of Commissioners for Ecclesiastical Causes.'

Four. His long, masculine fingers were unerringly accurate.

‘By levying Money for and to the Use of the Crown, by Pretence of Prerogative, for other Time, and in other Manner, than the same was granted by Parliament.'

His movements were measured, but unhesitating. Five.

‘By raising and keeping a Standing Army within the Kingdom in Time of Peace, without consent of Parliament, and quartering Soldiers contrary to Law.'

Alethea felt her chest start to tighten at the sixth button. Lord, he had beautiful hands.

‘By causing several good Subjects, being Protestants, to be disarmed, at the same Time when Papists were both armed and employed, contrary to Law.'

Seven. His voice was dark and sensual, completely mesmerising. It made her restless, stirring something within her and making her body ache for something she did not understand.

‘By violating the Freedom of Election of Members to serve in Parliament.'

His fingers touched her skin again. Oh, how she yearned for them to be on her body, skilfully guiding her along the path of pleasure that she knew he would give. Eight.

‘By Prosecutions in the Court of King's Bench, for Matters and Causes cognisable only in Parliament, and by divers other arbitrary and illegal Courses.'

His voice neither paused nor wavered as his fingers released button number nine.

‘And whereas of late Years, partial, corrupt, and unqualified Persons have been returned and served on Juries in trials, and particularly divers Jurors in Trials for High Treason, which were not Freeholders.'

Ten. Would this torture never end?

‘And excessive Bail hath been required of Persons committed in criminal Cases, to elude the Benefit of the Laws made for the Liberty of the Subjects.'

Lower and lower traversed his fingers. Halfway now.

‘And excessive Fines have been imposed; and illegal and cruel Punishments inflicted.'

Twelve.

‘And several Grants and Promises made of Fines and Forfeitures, before any Conviction or Judgement against the Persons, upon whom the same were to be levied.'

She had long ago stopped listening to the words. Just his voice. Only his voice. Nothing else existed in the world but his voice and his hands.

‘All which are utterly and directly contrary to the known Laws and Statutes, and Freedom of this Realm.'

Fourteen. Or perhaps it was fifteen. Why, oh why, was she still counting?

‘And they do claim, demand, and insist upon all and singular the premises, as their undoubted rights and liberties; and that no declarations, judgements, doings or proceedings, to the prejudice of the people in any of the said premises, ought in any wise to be drawn hereafter into consequence or example.'

Fifteen, sixteen. So close. If he wished, he could take the glove off now. But he didn't falter. She was dazed, helpless to stop him, as if his voice had woven a spell around her, taking away her rational thoughts and sense.

‘Now in pursuance of the premises the said Lords Spiritual and Temporal and Commons in Parliament assembled, for the ratifying, confirming and establishing the said declaration and the articles, clauses, matters, and things therein contained by the force of law made in due form by authority of Parliament do pray that it may be declared and enacted . . .'

Seventeen.

‘. . . that all and singular the rights and liberties asserted and claimed in the said declaration are the true, ancient, and indubitable rights and liberties of the people of this kingdom, and so shall be esteemed, allowed, adjudged, deemed, and taken to be . . .'

Eighteen.

‘. . . and that all and every the particulars aforesaid shall be firmly and strictly holden and observed as they are expressed in the said declaration; and all officers and ministers whatsoever shall serve their Majesties and their successors according to the same in all times to come.'

Nineteen.

‘All which their Majesties are contented and pleased shall be declared, enacted and established by authority of this present Parliament, and shall stand, remain and be the law of this realm for ever; and the same are by their said Majesties, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal and Commons, in Parliament assembled and by the authority of the same, declared, enacted and established accordingly.'

Twenty, twenty-one. At last.

Alethea ceased to breathe when his fingers stilled after releasing the last button. He moved slowly, so slowly, pulling the glove off her fingers until at last her arm lay bare, pale against his breeches. The duke clasped the outside of her wrist and she watched helplessly as he brought it to his mouth. He pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist for the briefest moment. The flare of heat that resulted was devastating to her senses. She gasped.

His eyes captured her gaze, glittering with something she instinctively recognised as dark and dangerous. ‘You should go.' He carefully placed her hand back on her lap.

Startled, she looked at him. ‘Your Grace?'

His jaw was rigid. ‘Leave now, Lady Alethea, before I lose control and ravish you in Drakeford's conservatory.'

At his shocking statement, she leapt to her feet. Her heart pounded so violently that she wondered if she had imagined the strain in his voice. She turned to go, and then halted. There was something she had to ask. She turned back. ‘When will I —'

‘I will call upon you tomorrow. Go now.' When she remained frozen in place, he uttered one last word, and it contained barely suppressed ferocity. ‘
Please.
'

Alethea fled.

Our Hero Withdraws his Offer

Trent rapped his knuckles impatiently on the mahogany front door. A moment later the door opened and he stepped inside.

‘Where is your mistress?' he demanded of the maid, handing her his cane and hat. He began to pull off his gloves.

The maid stared at him with terrified eyes. ‘Y-your Grace. Sh-she's in her bedchamber.'

‘Fetch her.' He removed his coat and gave it to the servant.

‘Y-yes, Your Grace.' The young girl had only taken a step when he spoke again.

‘No. I will go myself.' He ascended the stairs and strode down the short corridor before entering the bedchamber situated at the end. Beth was seated at her dressing table, attired in a cream-coloured nightgown and matching robe trimmed heavily with lace, brushing her dark hair. At his entry, his mistress stood up immediately, a startled look on her face. He closed the door behind him.

‘Your Grace! I was not expecting you this evening.'

Trent was already unfastening his breeches as he walked towards the bed. Beth hurried after him and was reaching up to help him unbutton his waistcoat when he stopped her. ‘No need. I am not staying long.'

‘But it is already so late, Your Grace, surely you have no other engagements this evening?'

Trent pulled his shirt out of his breeches. He ignored her question. ‘Get yourself on the bed.'

She blinked at the directness of his command, but she was too well-trained to demur. ‘Yes, Your Grace,' she murmured, untying the tie of her dressing gown.

The duke extinguished the oil lamp.

Trent got off the bed and walked over to the mirror in the corner of the room. The faint illumination provided by the single candle on the nearby table allowed him to see his reflection, and he began to tuck his shirt into his unfastened breeches.

‘Your Grace, must you leave now?'

He didn't turn around. He was in a filthy mood. The encounter he had had earlier in the evening in the Drakefords' conservatory with Alethea Sinclair had tested his willpower as nothing had in recent memory. The combination of her guileless beauty and her innocence had spun a sensuous web around him that he had been unable to escape long after she had left him. Frustrated with the arousal that would not abate, and unable to rid his mind of her image, he decided to visit his mistress. Not only was the physical release he had obtained unsatisfactory, it had done nothing to ease the painful tightness in his chest. He was deathly afraid that the emotion he had sworn he would never allow himself to feel again was already a foregone conclusion.

Trent took a deep breath to quell the surge of panic that threatened to suffocate him. So deep in thought was he that he gave a start when he felt a pair of arms slide around his waist.

‘Your Grace, you have barely visited me these past weeks.' From her voice alone he could tell that she was pouting. At one time he might have been charmed by it, but not now.

He removed her arms firmly, but not unkindly. ‘I have been at my estate. Besides,' he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror, his expression deliberately impassive. ‘I know you have not been lacking for company.'

Beth had the grace to blush. Trent observed her in the mirror with an objective eye. Although a handsome woman, she was not a beauty in the accepted sense of the word. It had been her charming and flirtatious manner that had drawn him in the beginning. Her teasing and the laughter in her eyes had made him feel less burdened somehow, and it had been a pleasant distraction from the heavy responsibilities of his life. But it was now more than six months since he had taken her under his protection, and the charm had faded. Even she knew it. It was why he had seen her in the park with another man in her curricle. A curricle, he might add, which he had provided for her.

That memory evoked another one. One of Alethea smiling up at him, her eyes bright with merriment as they shared a laugh over his lack of conversational ability. Her genuine high spirits and lack of artifice were like a breath of fresh air in a world where people rarely said what they thought, and imitated any fashionable trend like the sheep that they were. He was suddenly overcome with weariness. He wanted to return to his estate, far away from the shallow frivolity of society. He needed time to contemplate whether the dark-eyed beauty who had captivated him from the very first moment he had laid eyes on her could be part of his future. This thought led him to the present.

He had begun to tire of his mistress months ago, but had done nothing about it, finding it more convenient to continue with the current arrangement than ending it and having to squander valuable time searching for another. No more excuses. Not wanting a scene, he resolved to send her a letter informing her of his intention in the morning.

Right now, though, he needed a drink. Badly enough that, to Beth's dismay, his departure ended up being as abrupt as his arrival.

‘Trent. I thought I might find you here.' Cole took the chair opposite him before leaning forward and peering at his countenance. ‘How many brandies have you drunk?'

‘Four, five? Does it matter?' James leaned back in the leather armchair, staring morosely at the dancing flames in the fireplace. The loud hum of conversations surrounded them as the other members of Brooks's engaged in various activities such as smoking, drinking or gambling, or combinations thereof.

‘You didn't return to the ball.'

‘Obviously.' He knew his tone was overly sarcastic, but he knew Cole wouldn't take it personally. His friend had seen him under much worse circumstances.

‘Lady Alethea was concerned.'

Trent tensed at the mention of her name. His reaction did not go unnoticed.

‘What's wrong, James? What has happened between you? Have you had a quarrel?' There was concern in Cole's voice.

The duke laughed, although there was no humour in it. ‘Quarrel? Far from it.'

‘I don't understand.'

‘You have succeeded beyond your wildest expectations, Dr Cole. You have made me completely besotted with the lady.' Trent raised his glass in a mocking salute and drained the last of the brandy in it.

‘And that is a bad thing?' The doctor's tone was careful, and behind his spectacles his eyes were sharp and probing.

‘You must have forgotten about the former duchess.' Trent glared at his friend. ‘Alton's daughter was to have been a candidate for marriage, Cole, not a love match.'

‘I had not thought the two mutually exclusive,' murmured the younger man. ‘I do apologise if you have been inconvenienced.'

‘Inconvenienced? Ha! You have no idea what you have done, Cole. I shouldn't see her again,' he muttered, voicing his thoughts. But the thought of not seeing her again caused something in the vicinity of his heart to ache. Damn it to hell! Perhaps he did have a malady. But he knew that it was not a physical one, however much he wanted it to be. Because anything was better than the alternative – that he was already in love with her.

‘You should come to a decision, then. If you don't wish to continue your pursuit of her affections, then you must tell her. But it's best that you do so sooner rather than later.'

Trent knew that everything Cole said was true. He also knew that it would be impossible for him to stop seeing her. ‘I can't,' he finally admitted. He looked at his friend. ‘I can't not see her. She's like an addiction in my blood, my own personal opiate. When I see her, my heart pounds and my entire being rejoices.' He groaned loudly upon hearing himself. ‘And to top it all off you've turned me into a damnable poet. God!' He pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes.

‘Calm yourself, my friend. If it makes you feel any better, I believe that Lady Alethea harbours an affection for you. And she is certainly lovely, more so than I remembered. Extremely gracious, too. She will be an excellent duchess.'

‘Thank you, Cole,' said James dryly. ‘I am well aware of all the reasons why she would make a perfect wife.' He paused. ‘I am also aware of her intractable stubbornness, her need to win at all costs and her imprudence. Not to mention her impudence.' He looked up to see his friend grinning.

‘You don't appear particularly dismayed by those qualities, Trent.'

‘No, I suppose I am not,' said Trent slowly. Not that the realisation was that much of a surprise. There was very little about the lady that did not attract or fascinate him. He took a deep breath. Time to change the subject. ‘Well, I have time for a game of chess if you are of a mind to.'

Cole nodded, looking entirely too pleased with himself. James sighed. He would not have been surprised at all if the doctor had reached around and patted himself on the back. He couldn't wait till Cole was in the same position as he was in now. What a laugh he would be having at his friend's expense then.

Alethea looked up from her novel at the sound of a throat clearing. It was the butler. ‘Yes, Thompson?'

‘Lady Alethea, the Duke of Trent has arrived and has asked if you would accompany him on a carriage ride.'

‘Oh.' She looked across at the duchess, feeling her pulse begin to race. ‘Mother? Will that be all right?'

The duchess put down her embroidery, looking irritated. ‘Can he not ask himself? Fine. Go. Although if he doesn't make an offer for your hand at the end of all this, I vow I will flog him myself.'

Alethea rolled her eyes as she hurried out of the salon. ‘Thompson, tell His Grace that I will attend him shortly.' She ran up the stairs to her bedchamber. ‘Martha! Martha!'

Her maid hurried into the room. ‘My lady! What's to do?'

‘Hurry, Martha,' said Alethea breathlessly. ‘Trent is waiting for me outside. I need my hat, the one with the blue ribbon. That will suit what I have on.' After the duke had told her that he would be visiting today, she had decided upon a simple white gown decorated with tiny sprigs of bluebells. She sat in front of the mirror, waiting impatiently. Why, oh why did the duke not give her any notice? Of course, this way they could speak with some semblance of privacy. Her heart thudded nervously in her chest as she wondered what he was going to say to her, after what had happened between them last night.

Martha, being her usual efficient self, was back by her side in a flash, hat in hand. Two hat pins and the hat was secure. ‘There, my lady, pretty as a picture. Just one more thing.'

‘Ouch!' Alethea clapped her hands over her cheeks. ‘Martha! Why in heavens did you pinch me?' She stood up, rubbing her stinging cheeks.

‘You're lookin' a little pale, my lady. I just wanted to put some colour into them cheeks. Let me see.' She took Alethea's hands away. ‘There now, you look much better.'

‘Thank you, Martha,' replied Alethea dryly. ‘I suppose I should be thankful you didn't slap me. And I think the duke knows exactly what he does to me.' She walked towards the door.

‘Did he take your gloves?'

Alethea's mouth dropped open and she froze in the doorway. ‘What?'

Martha gave her a look. ‘My dear, I have been dressing you since you were fifteen. I know every single thing you own. And those gloves you came home with were not yours.'

Alethea lifted up her chin. ‘I spilt some wine on mine soon after I arrived and a friend of the duke's, Dr Cole, organised for the duchess to provide me with a replacement before I could object. That's all.'

‘Mm-hmm.' Her maid gave her a disbelieving look.

‘I'm going now,' she called out as she hurried down the corridor. It seemed she could keep nothing from her maid.

She came to a halt a few feet from him, her eyes focusing on his aristocratic profile as he gazed at the portrait of her grandmother. ‘Your Grace.'

The duke turned around, his forbidding expression daunting. However, when he saw her, the hardness about his mouth eased. ‘Good afternoon, my lady.'

Suddenly self-conscious, she reached up and adjusted the brooch holding her fichu in place. The footman opened the front door and Trent gestured for her to precede him. Outside, he held out his hand and she took it, stepping up into the black landau emblazoned with his ducal crest. She took the seat facing the coachman and the duke sat down next to her. Once the groomsman closed the door, Trent called out to the driver. It immediately started moving.

‘You came,' she said softly, risking a glance at his stern visage.

He turned around and looked at her. ‘I said I would.'

‘I wasn't certain that you would remember what you had said to me, especially as you were . . .' Alethea's voice trailed off.

‘In a state?' There was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice.

She bit her lip. Why had she brought up their encounter in the conservatory? Foolish woman! She quickly sought to change the subject. ‘Dr Cole told me yesterday evening, after you left, that you plan to go to Bath tomorrow.'

She watched his eyes narrow. ‘I do,' he replied.

‘I see.'

There was a long moment of silence. ‘You are wondering why I have not repeated my offer to take you in my carriage.'

‘I had wondered. And it is not because I require you to provide transportation, Your Grace. My original plans may be reinstated.'
It's because every moment that I spend in your company I want more. And more is never enough.

Trent inclined his head. ‘I have no doubt whatsoever.' He paused, his eyes watchful. ‘I realise it isn't fashionable to be truthful, but upon further consideration, I have decided that it would not be prudent to accompany you to Bath.'

‘Oh. I see.' A whole day in her company was obviously too much. She turned to stare out of the carriage, blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay. Why had she thought she knew anything about men, when she obviously didn't? He clearly didn't want to be with her.

‘No, you don't. Lady Alethea, look at me.'

Slowly, she turned back to him.